


Jailbreak

by starrdust411



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Drama, Explicit Language, Heavy Angst, Hostage Situations, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Graphic Violence, One-Sided Attraction, Prisoner of War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-11-07 03:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11050731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrdust411/pseuds/starrdust411
Summary: "You've got two options, Cap," Rumlow told him, "either act right and we'll put you back in to your own roomorwe pump you so full of sedatives you won't be able to do more than lie in bed and drool. It's your choice."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a story that I was actually working on before Cap 3 came out, but I lost track of it and only recently dusted it off and cleaned it up a bit. Very much not canon compliant for the film version of Civil War (which was amazing btw) and featuring a more comic book characterization of Baron Zemo.

Their base of operation was little more than a hole in the ground. There hadn't been much thought or care when they had taken over the abandoned burrows of the run down Army base. The walls still smelled like wet mold and the doors creaked with a kind of grating, rust induced squeak that made teeth shutter when forced to listen to it. Over head the florescent lights hummed and flickered erratically, exposing the patches of chipped paint littering the wall and most of the leaky ceiling.

Rumlow frowned, the muscles in his jaws clenching as he surveyed the mess in front of him. He hadn't joined Hydra with the intention of being surrounded by the comforts of exotic locations in lavish conditions. He had wanted to be a part of something bigger than himself, to carve a place of his own in a new world made of order and control. Yet in that moment the only thing Brock wanted was to go a solid week without having to brief his men on the proper procedure in handling break outs.

He glowered at the men standing in front him, their faces littered with welts and bruises, a few of them doing their best not to grimace in pain or hug their sides as they groaned pathetically in agony. It was a scene that had become all too familiar and as much as Rumlow wanted to blame it on the sorry shape of their latest batch of recruits, he knew that the blame truly belonged to their newest inmate.

Rumlow locked eyes with one sorry sack that was doing a poor job of hiding his muffled whimpers as his bruised eyes practically watered while he rubbed at the broken arm that had been freshly wrapped up and thrown into a sling. Brock sneered as he took a step closer to the kid, hoisting him roughly by his collar and offering him a firm shake that jostled the still tender arm. The kid gave out a shocked cry, but quickly swallowed it when he caught sight of the withering look Rumlow was currently pinning him with. 

"Lock it up, newbie!" he barked at the rookie and was mildly pleased to see the others in the rank flinch in response. "That goes for the rest of you little shits!" He let the kid go, shoving him with enough force to knock the recruit straight onto his ass. "I am sick and tired of having to deal with this _bullshit_ ," he spat out, wheeling on the rest of the group. "How many times do we have to go through this, huh? This is _basic_ procedure! You hear a noise in that room, you _do not enter_ unless the situation is _critical_ , in which cause you pound the damn door, order the inmate to stand down, then go in _weapons up_ and trained on the target. You do _not_ drop your guard on this bastard! He is highly trained and desperate to escape."

There was a fierce pounding behind his eyes, the tendons in his neck ready to burst as every inch of him surged with adrenaline. He was fed up with these briefings, tired of having to pick up the slack left behind by these wet behind the ears recruits. The inmate had actually managed to clear two check points before being taken down. Rumlow burned at the thought, his hands shaking with the urge to strangle someone, because clearly these rookies weren't worth the dirt coating their shoes. "This is the last briefing we're having about this," he told them, his voice a strained growl as the gaggle of injured recruits squirmed and paled in front of him. "Because the next time he breaks out, you better hope he kills you before I do."

Rumlow left the room with a sharp pivot; Rollins following close at his heels as they made their way down to the cells. Somehow the hall was worse than the briefing rooms, smelling like death and a backed up toilet. It had been hard at first not to gag or cough with every breath, but after the initial rough patch of the first few months, the stench had become a mere annoyance instead of a stomach churning distraction. 

"Fucking ridiculous," he grumbled as he adjusted his earpiece before punching in a his access code into the panel of the elevator. It was so old that some of the recruits were afraid to use it, were convinced that the cables would snap anytime someone stepped inside the rickety old car, but Rumlow didn't think about that as he and Rollins stepped inside. "What was it this time?"

"Faking sick again," Jack shrugged as the doors groaned with age before clunking closed in front of them. "The boys heard him puking his guts out and rushed in." Brock could practically hear the sympathetic frown twisting Jack's features. "Poor bastards didn't stand a chance."

"Stupid fucks," Brock spat. The small compartment shook as they made their descent, the gears churning with almost deafening effort as they groaned from years without care. "When are they gonna learn he doesn't get sick?"

"Rumlow..."

"And even if he is, he's not gonna die face down in his own puke." He snorted as they arrived at their level with another heavy shake coupled with a booming thud.

The two marched their way down the hall, past the empty cells that had been vacant for months. Rumlow hadn't been lying when he'd told that kid Hydra didn't take prisoners. The few chumps that were unlucky enough to be captured didn't stick around long, if Hydra had need for anyone it was purely for Intel extraction and that was never a long process. This was a different case, however, because Hydra had been waiting for this particular inmate for years and when they found out the circumstances that had led to the capture... Needless to say Baron Zemo had been particularly insistent when he stressed that the inmate was taken _alive_ in order to be monitored for as long as possible. 

Brock supposed that was where everything fell apart. The new recruits hadn't really been trained to handle this type of situation, hadn't been fully educated on how to deal with an inmate that was there for the long term and was capable and eager to escape. He glowered bitterly at the thought, because it was an excuse and the last thing Rumlow needed to do was come up with excuses for those who couldn't cut it.

They came to the end of the hall, a door that was nearly a foot thick and flanked by four armed guards with a squad of six waiting with their rifles trained in anticipation of his arrival. "We're going in boys," Rumlow announced, irritated at having to give them a minute to prepare themselves, because they should have been able to roll with the punches. Not this batch. They were all too soft.

When the squad was adequately prepared Rumlow swiped his ID badge and punched in his code. The door was the newest thing in this hole, because they needed it to be more reliable then the chumps guarding it. The green light flashed on the lock and two of the guards went to work pulling it open while Rumlow stepped inside. There were two more guards waiting for him, one on either side of the bed, rifles hoisted and aimed directly at the inmate who was locked into his bed, cuffs so thick they would be impossible to bust out of and likely none too comfortable to sleep in. He could tell as much from the thick black bags growing beneath the red rimmed eyes that were currently glaring daggers at him. 

It was another sight that had become familiar over the months -- chapped pink lips pressed into a thin sneer, square jaw clenched, and muscular body softened by the protruding bulge in his gut that was covered only by a flimsy hospital gown -- but this was a sight that he thoroughly enjoyed. A small thrill always made its way through him when he stared at Rogers like this, a wild animal cornered and caged and ready to lash out. Rumlow enjoyed seeing Rogers beaten down and confined, but still with a fighting spirit in him. He could see it in Cap's eyes, ice cold blues that flashed with an intense fury whenever their gaze locked, and Brock allowed his lips to curl just a bit in response.

"You know you're just making it harder on yourself, don't you?" Rumlow told him and received a withering glare in turn. "If you'd just behaved like you were supposed to you wouldn't be locked down like this. You could go back to your room like before, but now you're stuck in this shit hole chained to the bed. Is that what you wanted?"

Rogers gave his head a little tilt, his jaw clenched and his lip curling with a smug grin that caused the split in his lip to crack and reopen in response. "You feeling sore that I humiliated your boys again?" he shot back. "What's the matter Rumlow? Is Hydra's budget so tight you can't afford to train your lackeys properly? It must really eat at you knowing that I keep getting the best of them again and again."

"Did you? Cause you're right back where you started: sitting in bed waiting to pop."

Rogers shifted at the comment, the smirk all but evaporating from his face as his eyes flickered to the bulky shackles wrapped around his left arm. The cuffs were bigger this time, made on the fly to accommodate the extra strength that they weren't sure Cap still possessed in his current state, and Rumlow felt confident that he wouldn't slip out of them this time.

"How far you think you're gonna get next time?" he went on, digging the knife deeper and enjoying the way Rogers squirmed with each word. "Getting bigger every day, Cap. Pretty soon you'll be too big to walk right, too slow to get past that door without breaking a sweat. You really want that?"

Rumlow watched as Rogers’s nostrils flared, chest pumping up and down with each breath as his hands clenched uselessly at his side. Brock loved getting him riled up, loved watching the little pulse in his throat flicker beneath his skin. Sometimes Brock thought about running his teeth over that tendon, scraping against the heated flesh until Rogers moaned despite himself and then biting down just to hear his pained cries. It burned him up sometimes, knowing that the chump from DC had gotten to Rogers first, that he had swooped in and fucked him when Rumlow had been working that angle for months. Now things were different. Hydra had provided him another way in and Brock wasn't going to let the opportunity slip by again.

Rogers looked back at him then, eyes flaring and cheeks practically red with anger and Rumlow could see that he had gone full on Captain America in that moment. "I'm not going to let you have my baby."

Rumlow laughed, the sound short and crisp, because he could see the intensity in Cap's eyes, but knew that the declaration was nothing short of futile. "Come on Cap. You cost us our last asset, it's only fair you provide us with the next one." He reached out a hand and cupped his chin, careful to mind his teeth because Rumlow knew from experience that given the opportunity Rogers would bite. His smile widened at the feel of the beard that was still soft and thick to the touch and went surprisingly well with Cap's newly rounded form. He leaned in close enough so that only Rogers would hear him, but just far enough away that he would be safe from the potential head butt that Rogers had suddenly become fond of delivering. "Or maybe I'll do you the favor and carve this one out of you," he whispered, low and conspiring and grinning all the while. "Wait a few days for you to heal up and then put a better kid in your gut."

"Fuck you!" Rogers spat, arms jerking with enough force to make the bed frame shake, but not enough to make his straps budge.

"That's the idea," he chuckled brushing the pad of his thumb against the hairy cheek before straightening himself again. "You've got two options, Cap," he told him, louder now so that the others could hear them, "either you act right and we'll put you back in to your own room _or_ we pump you so full of sedatives you won't be able to do more than lie in bed drooling while junior bakes inside of you. It's your choice Cap."

They cleared out of the room then, the extra recruits he had brought in filing out into the hallway as the set of guards stationed to keep watch over Rogers stood straighter and held their weapons a touch tighter. A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as they marched out of the room, the sound of a frustrated grunt and the bed frames creaking in protest offering his ears a pleasant farewell.

\--

Baron Zemo's office was the only spot on the base where the air felt clean enough to breathe without gagging. The lights above them were still dim and flickered periodically and the walls were still paint chipped in odd patches that were just barely exposed beneath the dozens of scans and charts pinned to the surface, but there was actual ventilation and a smell of something other than mildew filling the air. Rumlow figured this was the sort of luxury you were given after surviving a thousand years and moving up far enough the ladder to be the head guy at Hydra.

He watched as Zemo took a short huffed breath, the gesture causing the material of the purple sock he wore over his face to billow around his mouth. Rumlow had a feeling that Zemo looked like gray overcooked meat beneath the mask, because that was the only possible reason he'd keep it on every second of the day. The print out in his hand was gripped tight between his gloved fingers, held at an angle that would offer enough light that it clearly showed every detail on the ultrasound image.

"Twenty-eight weeks, three days," Zemo mused, his words accented by a voice used to speaking ancient German and muffled by the fabric covering his face. "Six pounds fifteen ounces, fourteen inches long, with internal systems well developed... By this stage, the child would be able to survive outside of the womb, should an early extraction be necessary." He lowered the image down to the cluttered surface of his desk to join the other files and scans charting Rogers's progress. Somehow Brock could tell that Zemo's brow was arched, that his likely grizzled face was pinched into a disappointed scowl as he fixed his gaze in Rumlow's direction. "Is an early extraction necessary, Herr Rumlow?"

Rumlow felt his back stiffen and his jaw clench at the barely veiled jab that had been thrust in his direction. He felt the urge to point out that it was the incompetent sacks that Zemo had hired to occupy his air space who were responsible for this latest escape attempt, but Rumlow already knew how Zemo felt about excuses and decided to swallow the words. 

"No, sir, an extraction is not needed at this stage," Rumlow reported, sharp and clear, as he flexed the muscles in his legs in order to burn a bit of the energy churning through him. One thing that hadn't changed between Hydra and SHIELD was how annoying it felt to be chewed out by some suit for mistakes that were ultimately the result of their own short sighted budget restraints. Yet Rumlow knew how to grit his teeth and bare it as he stood in front of the higher up's desk. He simply pressed down his anger and let it sit for a while so that he could unload it later on the pitiful recruits who really deserved it. "I feel confident that my boys and I can get the situation back under control."

"I would hope so, Herr Rumlow," Zemo hummed as he tilted his head downward in order to rearrange the printouts and files spread out in front of him. "We need for our new asset to be in peak physical health from the beginning and in order to achieve this a full gestational period would be required."

His jaw tightened as Rumlow resisted the urge to openly glower at the mention of the kid. He glanced downward at the paperwork sitting in front of Zemo. The kid was half Rogers, but whenever he looked at the ultrasound print outs he could only imagine that chump Wilson. They had researched the guy, along with all the new members of the Avengers team, and Rumlow knew that he was just some sorry chair force PJ who could barely throw a punch and was useless without that fancy rocket pack strapped to his back. Yet somehow he had gotten farther than Rumlow had, had taken something that Brock had worked at for over a year without any effort at all. It was hard to wrap his head around at times.

"With all due respect, Baron Zemo, how much good is this new asset going to provide? Do we even know if those serum genes will show up in Cap's kid?"

Zemo's masked face tilted towards him. Rumlow knew that the question had been out of line and that Zemo had likely considered the situation from every possible angle by now, but he still had doubts given where the other half of the kid's DNA had come from.

"It may not be apparent from the start, but I can assure you, Herr Rumlow, that the child of Captain Rogers will develop all of his capabilities. All of our tests have confirmed as much." He watched as Zemo's posture eased as his form tilted backwards while he leaned against the worn padding of his stiff chair and tented his fingers in front of him. "Besides, enhancements can always be made. Modifications can be added. The child will be of great value to Hydra's future. He will help us shape a better world."

\--

The stench of boiled beats and shredded chicken greeted his nose and Steve instantly felt his stomach roll. He knew what the tray looked like even before the guard carried it into view: withered vegetables swimming in foggy water next to meat coated in gray lumpy broth that tasted like the inside of a jacket. Steve shifted against the bed unconsciously, because he was still locked into place, sitting propped up against the beaten down old mattress, and was rewarded with a creek of protest as one of the springs slipped out of position and began to press into his back. 

"I'm not hungry," he huffed once the guard was standing beside him, tray gripped tightly in gloved hands. In truth he was starving. His stomach felt painfully empty, almost hollow, for want of a decent meal. Yet all the same he couldn't stand the thought of subjecting his baby to another disgusting meal that he always half suspected of being poisoned. He also couldn't bear the thought of having to be spoon fed his slop by a glowering Hydra mook. 

He glanced up at the man looming above him and saw that the left side of his face was bruised with thick purple splotches that were yellowing around the edges. Steve didn't recognize the man, but suspect that it had been his own fist that had painted his face the hideous colors it was currently turning. The thought alone was enough to make his lips curl slightly with pleasure. He knew that the guards resented him, hated the fact that even in his current state he could easily mop the floor with any of them. It was fortunate for them that Steve was not only outnumbered but that they were well armed with the elephant tranquilizers they kept in their riffles.

"I didn't ask if you were hungry," the goon snapped, his face turning red with anger and bringing out the disfigured colors in his face even more. "You should feel lucky we're even feeding your fat ass."

Steve turned away and said nothing.

It didn't take long for the guard's anger to all but boil over as the sound of a pointed snort from a broken nose greeted his ears. "Fine," the guard huffed. "Think I wanna stand here and spoon feed you?"

The tray hit the wall with a sharp clank, vegetables and meat splattering everywhere and sticking to the walls in a heavy explosion of washed out colors. One of the other guards stationed by the door barked out in annoyance as a hunk of chicken slapped against his chest while the other openly laughed at the display. "Your dumbass is cleaning this shit up, Kowaltzke!"

Kowaltzke didn't say anything, didn't look at anyone as he stomped out of the room and out the door, but Steve already knew he would be back in an hour to mop up the glop sticking to the wall.

Steve leaned back on the bed and tried not to smile. Riling the guards up was one of the few pleasures he still had. Yet the familiar pressure against his belly as the baby began to squirm inside of him made the small victory fall into perspective of the petty act that it was. He sighed and longed for just enough freedom to be able to put his hand to his stomach in order to soothe the baby's movements, but he'd lost that "privilege" with this last escape attempt. He had been so close, had managed to run all the way to the elevators before being shot full of sedatives.

He sighed and stared up at the splotches on the ceiling. His legs were already itching with the urge to run again, but those same legs were also weighed down from swollen ankles thanks to this pregnancy. A part of him was starting to think that Rumlow might be right, that he was just too big and weak to really manage a decent escape. 

What's more Steve knew that his friends were coming for him. Rumlow was determined to convince him that the team was scattered, that his friends were either crippled or dead and no one would rescue him, but Steve saw right through all that. Even if there were times that he felt alone, Steve knew well enough that he had powerful connections in this world. He was certain that the Avengers, old and new, would be working tirelessly to track him down; the remnants of SHIELD could easily flush out any Hydra goon and squeeze out every last drop of information from them; and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that Fury and Hill would exhaust all of their resources to get him back.

Yet at moments like this when he was lying flat on his back against a threadbare mattress that dug painfully into his side, wrapped in gritty sheets that on better days smelled like sweat and dried blood, and gazing up at the moldy ceiling overhead he couldn't help wondering when the Calvary would finally come. It was going on two months since his capture and try as he might Steve felt his remaining faith starting to crumble away with each passing day.

Closing his eyes Steve tried his best to imagine that he was in his own bed, wrapped in clean sheets that smelled like that detergent Sam liked so much and breathing in the crisp night air drifting in from an opened window. He imagined Sam snaking in behind him, his bare chest damp and warm from the shower spray as he pressed flush against Steve’s back. “What are we gonna name the kid?” Sam would say as he rubbed the butt of his chin against Steve’s shoulder, the short hairs scraping pleasantly against his skin, before being replaced by a lingering pair of full lips. Steve would grimace and groan in playful distaste at the subject, but Sam would just chuckle as he wrapped an arm around Steve’s swollen middle and caressed his stomach with his calloused hands. “C’mon baby, I know you don’t wanna do it, but we can’t put it off forever.”

“I told you, we’re gonna call him Sam Jr.” Steve would always tease, knowing good and well that the name would always produce a shudder from his husband. “Our little Sammy.”

“Something else. Anything else! I mean, what if it’s a girl?”

“Sam can be a girl’s name too,” he would chuckle, not bothering to turn to face Sam as he reached down to press one hand on top of his belly in order to emphasize his point. Another hand would join his, their fingers linking together as the baby squirmed beneath his skin, soothed by the sound of the familiar voices and pleasant tones. “ _She_ ’ll be our little Sammy.”

Steve felt his eyes begin to water at the thought and instantly hated himself for it. He titled his head back against the stiff pillows, the scratchy fabric scrapping against his cheeks as he attempted to wipe away any trace of moisture from his face. Not that it mattered what the guards thought of him. Steve knew from experience that he could beat either one of them senseless without breaking a sweat. What frustrated him more was how easily he was able to get swept away by his emotions. It only took an instant for the pleasant fantasy to go from comforting to sending a biting pain of regret spreading through his heart.

He missed Sam more dearly than anything else from his former life. Steve could still recall the day he had told Sam about the baby, how frightened he had been at the prospect of what might happen, how things between them would change. When he closed his eyes he could still recall the way his stomach had rolled as he told Sam the news, his whole body practically convulsing with dread. But Sam had surprised him with the way he grabbed Steve in a fierce bear hug and nearly broke his back as he lifted Steve clean off the ground hollering with pure, unabashed joy. “My baby’s havin’ a baby!” Sam had shouted, his words causing Steve’s entire face to turn bright red.

In that moment any trace of doubt had evaporated from his body and Steve couldn’t even recall why he had thought for a second that Sam would have responded to the news with anything but enthusiasm. “Our baby,” Steve had breathed when his feet were firmly planted on the ground and his own sturdy hands were holding Sam squarely in place as the other man’s legs began to wobble with the extra effort of lifting Steve just seconds again. He had laughed then; feeling light headed with joy and wrapped up in the warmth radiating from Sam. “Our baby.”

Another push came down against his stomach, a very pointed reminder of his current state and why he couldn't give up just yet. _Its okay little Sammy,_ he thought morosely. _We're getting out of here. Just hang in there._


	2. Chapter 2

Monitor duty was part of a scheduled rotation. Most of the senior officers in the facility were on that schedule even though it was a pretty low level task. Really it was grunt work, and for a time it had been, but most of the breakouts that occurred during Cap’s imprisonment were due in some part to a snot nosed rookie half-assing their job of watching the cameras and letting details slip past their notice (like the time Rogers had escaped by sharpening a spoon he had taken from his meal tray into a knife during lights out). It was decided by the officers that the grunts couldn't be trusted with the task. As a result every night from 1800 to midnight Rumlow was forced to drudge down to the surveillance room and babysit Rogers via the four cameras in his cell. 

There had only been one originally -- back when Rogers had been placed in a cozy little room made to appear disarming and comfortable, a pathetic little trick to get Cap to play nice while they waited for the kid to pop -- but after the first three break outs it became obvious that a single angle wouldn't be enough to keep Rogers in check.

Rumlow hummed low in his throat as he leaned back in his chair, his coffee steaming and untouched on the control panel in front of him, as his eyes darting periodically across the four screens fixated on different angles of the small cell. The whole room was awash in the pale, milky glow of the screens as the tech boys typed at their keyboards and kept tabs on the slew of switchboards and screens filling up the confined space. Like most places within the base it was cramped and poorly ventilated, the heat of the equipment making the room feel like an oven and already Rumlow could feel sweat beading on his brow a bit despite the fact that he had rolled up his sleeves before even entering. 

It was a slow night, Rogers having turned in earlier than usual at 2030 instead of his usual 2200 self-imposed knock out time, which was either a sign that Cap was up to something or his condition was getting the better of him. Most would likely contribute it to the latter given that Rogers was now thirty two weeks and ready to pop, but Rumlow knew well by now not to under estimate the man. Big bellied or not their captive was wily and dangerous and past experiences had proven that lights out was when Cap was at his most mischievous. Rumlow still remembered the incident nearly two months back when Rogers had broken the flimsy cuffs some slack jawed recruit had fixed him with and used his blankets to strangle a guard. It would have been impressive if it weren't so damn frustrating.

The guards were still posted in the cell, an extra pair having been placed outside the door in exchange for allowing Rogers the privilege of having his legs and left hand unshackled at night. A solid three weeks of good behavior had earned him that reward, plus a few of the piss ant guards were starting to bitch about having to rub the feeling back into Rogers's numb legs every time they helped him sit up to take a piss. If it weren't for the brat sleeping in his gut Rogers wouldn't be given half the privileges he had. Then again, if it weren't for the brat Rogers likely would be floating face down in the Hudson by now.

He glanced down at the control panel, the steam from his coffee barely visible in the dim lighting, to check some of the levels. There were smaller screens there, displaying Rogers’s vitals to be level and clearly indicating that he had already hit REM sleep. There was also a set of vitals for the brat, but Rumlow tended to ignore those. Overall the night was going out without a single hitch so far, the thought of which only made Rumlow feel even more tense. Things hadn't been smooth sailing since they had taken Rogers into custody which meant that something was due to go wrong at any second.

Rumlow grasped the base of his mug while keeping his eyes trained on the rows of monitors. The ceramic surface of the cup was still warm against his palm as he took a sip of the dark brew. He could feel the pit of his stomach clenching at the sight of the prone figure on the other side of the screen sleeping peacefully. Brock propped his feet against the base of the console and pushed himself back enough to cause the hinges of his chair to creak. He frowned as he mulled over what Rogers could be plotting, what sort of tools could potentially be stashed away beneath the folds of his hospital gown or the springs of his mattress. 

He took another gulp before placing the mug back down against the console and reaching for the microphone clipped to his shoulder. "Hitchcock," he began, his words echoing on the other side of the screen and causing one of the guards to frown down at the radio clipped to his own shoulder, "what's the status? Over."

Rumlow watched as the man on the far right corner of the screen reached for the talk-box and spoke into it. "Running, smooth sir," Hitchcock replied. "Inmate is out and everything is green. Over."

"Copy that Hitchcock," he sighed, his gut still not satisfied even with the confirmation from a different angle. "Just for safety, let's do a quick room sweep. Over."

"Will do boss. Over."

He took another long slurp from the mug, the coffee nearly drained and leaving bits of the grind clinging to the bottom of the cup, as he watched the figures moving around the room. Rumlow saw Rogers begin to stir from his sleep just as the door to the darkened office full of screens slipped open, the harsh florescent lights from the hall pouring in and causing everyone within the room to either cringe or squint at the source. Twisting around slightly he saw Rollins enter the room with another guard at his heels and a tense look on his face. "Zemo wants to see you in his office," Rollins said without preamble. "Says it's urgent."

Brock snorted at the comment as he sat up, planting his booted feet firmly on the ground. "Figures," he grumbled, suddenly realizing why his stomach had been so cramped up. "Take over for me," he said as he pushed himself out of the chair, already knowing that was likely exactly what Rollins had been planning to do.

He made his way up to Zemo's quarters in no time at all, even though Rumlow was in no real rush to get there. Zemo never called for him with good news, so there wasn't a doubt in his mind that only bullshit was waiting for him in the old corpse's office. He had expected to see security stationed outside Zemo's door as there should have been, but today no one was standing with their backs against the grimy walls wearing mile long stares and that made his whole body tense as he gave a few quick pounds on the door, waiting impatiently to be beckoned inside. 

When he entered he saw that the papers adorning the walls had been packed away, Zemo's desk all but cleared of files and print outs, and Zemo himself standing in the middle of the room stacking boxes. 

"Close the door," Zemo ordered instantly, not bothering to look up from his task. He waited for a moment after the click of the door echoed through the office before continuing. "Our sources have confirmed that the Avengers are closing in on our location." Rumlow tensed at the words as he continued to watch Zemo carefully clear away everything in his office. "We are going to evacuate all high level officers and leave the pawns here to keep the Avengers occupied."

Brock swallowed the groan already building in his throat. He could already imagine the new pit they'd be squatting in as soon as they cleared out of this hole and shuddered at the thought of the fresh batch of incompetent grunts waiting to be rounded up after the Avengers tore through these clowns. Rumlow took those thoughts and pushed them aside, because that wasn't the real issue. The Avengers weren't coming just to pancake another Hydra base after all. "What should we do with Rogers, sir?"

"Assemble a team to escort him out of here," Zemo said without hesitation. "I want him well sedated. As soon as we arrive at our new facility he will be prepped for surgery to have the child extracted immediately."

That was enough to give Rumlow pause, and even if he knew better, he could not fight the urge to interject. "No disrespect Baron Zemo, but I thought the plan was to keep the baby incubating until the fortieth week."

Rumlow had thought the question would have been enough to cause a reaction from Zemo, but the man hardly seemed to notice Brock had said a word as he continued to dismantle his quarters. "Plans have changed, Herr Rumlow," Zemo said with the faintest hint of a sigh. "Our current situation does not offer us the luxury of patience and Rogers grows more hostile with each passing day. You and your men have failed to break his spirit, but the child can still be molded to suit our needs. We must cut our losses. Dispose of Rogers and take the child. He is all that we need."

His body went ridged and a hard lump seemed to form in the pit of his gut and sink all the way down to his feet. Rumlow had figured Hydra would go back to their "take no prisoners" policy, but he had thought they would at least squeeze a few more kids out of Rogers first and give Rumlow another shot at his goal. Again the urge to speak up crawled at his throat, but this time Brock managed to fight it off. There was no point in arguing with Zemo once he had his mind set and Rumlow had to remind himself that life would be a lot easier without having to deal with a restless inmate busting out of his cell every other day.

"Understood, sir," Rumlow forced himself to say, but was more than a bit frustrated that the disappointment managed to shine through in his tone. "How much time do we have?"

"Not enough," Zemo announced with an air of finality as he placed the last folder in his box and stuffed the lid on top. Rumlow barely managed to wrestle the grimace from his face as he watched the old Nazi stack his boxes and head for the door. "I leave the rest to you, Herr Rumlow. Auf wiedersehen."

\--

He was awake before the guards had entered the room. By nature he was a light sleeper and in his current situation it was necessary to stay alert at all times. His jailers had been tense all day, neither one of them saying anything for fear of giving away any vital details, but Steve already knew that there was trouble on the horizon for Hydra which meant that his time had arrived. 

Steve had managed to lure the guards into a false calm by pretending to sleep, having gotten good at slowing his breathing with periodic fidgets of feigned sleep. The guards didn't think much of it given his condition, so when he closed his eyes he heard them whispering about an impending evacuation. It was hard not to grow tense at that, but Steve managed to keep his calm even as the baby began kicking up a storm inside of him. If Hydra was planning to move then chances were good that his friends were near. Security would no doubt tighten around the base and they would probably be planning to move Steve soon, unless...

His stomach jittered at the thought and the baby must have been doing back flips in his belly as Steve did his best not to dwell on the darker possibilities. He took a moment to use his free hand to rub at the swell of his stomach in the hopes of calming the baby squirming inside of him as he measured his options. Steve was already considerably bigger than the last time he had tried to escape. His legs were sore from lack of use and lying in bed all day only left his ankles felling swollen and puffy beneath the coarse sheets. He wondered how far he could run, how long he would last even if he were to take his captures by surprise. Doubt began sinking into him as he flexed his toes against the stiff sheets and was instantly greeted by a dull numbness. 

For a moment he considered staying put, waiting in the cell while the team cleared out the base and made their way to his location. It was the more cautious option to be sure, would put less strain on his changing body and keep the baby out of harm’s way. Yet Steven pushed the thought aside when he considered the possibility that Hydra would try to move him before the Avengers even made it to the front door. No, the best thing to do would be to run far and fast as soon as the opportunity presented itself and pray that the team would meet him half way.

A dull boom sounded overhead, faint and distant, yet powerful enough to make the room shake and the lights flicker overhead and Steve knew instantly it had started. It was hard to continue his pretend sleep, but he forced himself to only stir slightly before settling back in, beneath his sheets he slowly began sliding his hand towards the metal bar along the side of his hospital bed, the one he had been working lose bit by bit each night while his captures weren't paying attention. Steve knew that the bar would come loose with a good tug and would give him just enough of an upper hand to catch the guards by surprise and maybe take at least two of them out. Chances were there would be a team of at least four transporting him and they would have weapons of their own -- the tranquilizer rifles they had become fond of instantly came to mind -- and a metal rod didn't seem like a great choice to go into a fight, but it was all he had.

From the other end of the room he could hear the chatter erupting on two sets of walkie-talkies. A distorted voice muffled by static and more faint booms was ordering the troops topside and stating that the Avengers were inbound. One of the guards made to lower his radio, but the other wasn't fast enough, and Steve heard the order to secure the package before either guard could reach for their mouth piece to respond.

His back was facing the door, but Steve was able to see thanks to the shadows cast by the light spilling in from the hall that two men had entered the room. One of the guards was holding a syringe while the other entered hunched over and pushing something with rusted wheels in dire need of oiling. 

His hand tightened on the railing as the shadows loomed in closer and before the man with the syringe could put a hand on him, Steve yanked the bar free from its place along the rusted bed frame and slammed it into the guard’s face. He went down instantly, the force of the blow causing the man to stumble backwards and crash into the other goon who had been wheeling in the gurney. The bed rolled out the door just as the guards raised their rifles and readied themselves to fire. Steve was ready as well, grabbing the intact section of the frame in hand, he jerked and flipped the whole thing over, allowing himself enough cover from the rain of tranquilizer darts spraying in his direction and a bit of time to consider what to do about his right hand still being chained to the bed. 

Steve gave his right arm a tug and felt the thick metal press into his flesh as the rest of the frame rattled in protest. From the sliver of space between the overturned bed and the floor Steve could just barely make out the still opened door and felt his resolve double. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip by. The guards made to grab the frame of the bed in order to turn it over and Steve rewarded their efforts with a good kick to the crotch for one and a blow to ribs for the other. The two men grunted in pain as Steve gave his shackled hand a strong jerk and was greeted with the sound of metal groaning as it tore like paper. His right wrist still wore the ridiculously thick cuff, which would limit his movements a great deal, but at least now he was no longer attached to the bed.

The guard he had slammed in the gut groaned as he stagger pathetically to his feet, but Steve managed to grab one of the riffles that had fallen to the floor and slam the butt of the weapon down against the man’s skull sending him sprawling back to the ground.

Rifle in hand, Steve suddenly felt slightly better about his odds with a proper weapon to utilize. Not that he wouldn’t still have preferred to have his shield and suit, or at the very least actual shoes, but it was certainly a start.

Steve took off down the hall, turning sharply towards where he remembered the elevator being. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to see half a dozen men waiting for him. The guards started firing on sight, most of the darts going wide and bouncing off the walls and ceiling as Steve ducked behind a corner in an attempt to seek cover. Distantly he could make out the sound of men trying to radio for backup, but Steve had a feeling the majority of the Hydra forces were currently preoccupied trying to fend off the Avengers topside.

Steve wasn’t exactly a marksman, but he was a decent enough shot to send the men sprawling to the floor after a few rounds of tranquilizers connected with their neck, chest, or thigh. He briefly wondered what sort of affect the drugs would have on an average man given that they were made specifically to restrain him, but considering that he was dealing with a pack of Hydra thugs who were standing in the way of his child’s freedom, he didn’t take the time to contemplate the consequences.

Once the hall was secure, Steve continued his sprint towards the elevator, grabbing a keycard from one of the fallen men as well as a second rifle for good measure. Steve had a decent feeling that he had pretty much spent most of his ammo dealing with this batch of guards and hoping that the next floor would be clear was naïve to say the least.

As the car lurched its way upward Steve found himself slumping against the rusted walls in order to catch his breath. He was more out of shape than he had originally anticipated, his face feeling flushed with effort and the soles of his feet sore from having to make their way against the broken shells and grime covering the floor. Not to mention the shooting pain that began to erupt from the pit of his stomach and across his back before spreading all the way up to his chest.

_Oh no,_ he thought, his left hand dropping the newly acquired gun in order to cradle the side of his stomach that suddenly felt as if it were collapsing in on itself. _No. No not now!_

Steve screwed his eyes shut and ground his teeth together as the elevator gave one final lurch before arriving at the top floor. As the doors churned their way open, the sound of distant shouts and muffled explosions began to reach his ears. His friends were here, but Hydra was still all around him. He needed to survive this, needed to escape, and he certainly did not need to go into labor now.

_C’mon Sammy. Hang in there. We’re almost free._

With the elevator doors now opened, Steve managed to pull himself together enough to press his back flush against the small sliver of space between the hall and the corner of the car. Shots rained into the compartment, denting the walls in ways that told Steve that these mooks weren’t just firing tranquilizers at him. He steadied himself, pushing away the slowly fading cloud of pain as he returned fire, his own shots going wild as he struggled to concentrate.

Time seemed to jerk and stutter forward in that instant, because Steve didn’t remember when he had left the elevator bank to find himself surrounded by men. He blinked and found his fist slamming into a man’s face so hard he could feel the teeth come loose. Another blink and the butt of a riffle swung towards his head only for Steve to side step just in time. With another jerk he was knocked to the ground, only to find himself a second later kneeling and surrounded by unconscious bodies.

His trembling hand reached towards his right thigh where a dull pain was vaguely beginning to register beneath the tidal wave crashing into his stomach. It was only when the tips of his fingers brushed against something sharp and metal protruding from his leg did Steve begin to realize what happened.

“I bet that must hurt like a bitch,” A familiar voice said, the tone smug and gravely, but distant as if coming from miles away. Yet Steve knew that the man was standing above him when he felt a gloved hand grab his shoulder and knock him onto his back. He lay on the ground for a dizzying second, his vision swirling into focus on Rumlow’s smug face hovering in front of his foggy eyes. “I already told you there was no use running Cap. Why do you always gotta do things the hard way?”

Any other time Steve would have managed a slick response, but at the moment his tongue felt like lead in his mouth and the parts of his body that weren’t on fire with pain felt distant and numb. Yet the only thought that kept bobbing in and out of his head was that he was there, right there, and if he could just make it out the door they would be free.

With no small amount of effort Steve managed to roll his way back onto his hands and knees, his palms slick with sweat and his legs brushing against what must have been broken glass as he tried desperately to focus on the exit. The hall seemed to stretch on endlessly, but somehow Steve knew that there was a door there, the way out was just ahead and just maybe he could reach it before the drugs kicked all the way in. He began to crawl, palms and knees biting into splinters and shards and wobbling with protest, but he could make it.

“This is sad.”

A booted foot shoved against his side, sending Steve collapsing on his stomach, barely able to spare the full weight of his body from meeting the ground. 

“You’re done big guy,” Rumlow said. He felt a tug against his hair as his head jerked back and another foot pressed against his leg, shoving the dart deeper into the meat. “That kid’s as good as ours. So why don’t you just-”

The next words never came as a sharp ringing erupted in his ears followed by his head once again hitting the ground. Time lurched again as he lay on the floor, heavy footsteps booming through the hall, and then in another instant he was on his back with a pair of gloved hands framing his face.

“Stay with me,” said another familiar voice, only this one desperate and strained, yet warm. Steve felt certain that if he just concentrated a bit more he could make out who the voice belonged to, but focusing on anything was becoming more difficult as his vision continued to blur. “C’mon Steve, stay with me.”

His vision swirled, darkness creeping in around him as more blurry figures swarmed in front of his eyes and the last bit of strength left his body.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam couldn't remember the last time he got some actual sleep. A decent night of rest felt as if it had eluded him for a thousand years. Whenever he closed his eyes he could feel himself being swarmed by nightmares. Visions of Riley falling from the air, the sound of the phone ringing the day he got the news about his dad, a swarm of Hydra thugs surrounding him and Steve... 

His stomach rolled around inside of him as his hands shook and his leg muscles continued to twitch beneath the table. Sam told himself that Steve was still alive. He told himself that the baby was okay, because Hydra wanted them. Sam hadn't been conscious when Steve had been taken, a fact that he still felt a thick knotting guilt over, but Sam remembered clearly that the agents who had ambushed them had been carrying rifles filled with sedatives. Hydra had wanted Captain America dead for years, but the fact that they were using non-lethal weapons the day they took him as their prisoner was a clear indication that they weren't aiming to kill him, that somehow they knew about the baby.

The weight of a hand pressing against his shoulder told Sam that he had been discovered and was no longer alone with the thoughts he was using to torture himself. He blinked a few times before sluggishly turning to face Natasha, her expression deceptively neutral as her bright blue eyes swam with concern. 

“Hanging in there?” she asked him carefully. Natasha had given up on telling Sam to get some rest weeks ago, likely recognizing it for the losing battle that it was.

He nodded, the gesture causing his head to feel uneven and light. Sam placed a hand over his eyes in the hopes of steading himself, but found that it did little to help. “Yeah. As best as I can,” he returned.

The sound of metal scraping against the floor alerted him to the fact that Natasha was taking a seat beside him, but he had already known that she would. Natasha’s presence had an oddly soothing effect on Sam, her outward rigidness and inner warmth gave him balance even if he did find it difficult to listen to anything she had to say.

Years of working at the VA had taught Sam a lot about the importance of self-care when dealing with hard times and he knew first hand that he was spiraling, but this was a hole that was nearly impossible to crawl his way out of and each day found Sam sliding further down.

“Well, I’m going to need you to get sharp,” Natasha told him in her firm, calming manner. “We’ve just about narrowed down the location of our next target.” 

Sam tensed, his whole body from his teeth straight down to his toes suddenly feeling painfully stiff at the statement. It felt like they had torn through a base just yesterday, the bitter taste of disappointment when Steve hadn’t turned up still lingering on his tongue, and Sam was relieved to hear that their previous mission may not have been a total waste of time. It helped that they had managed to get most of the team back together. Word that Captain America had gone missing had been more than enough to rally the troops together and even Stark had willingly put aside the bitterness that had grown between him and Steve when the news reached him in order to help their cause.

"When do we head out?" Sam asked, the jittery feeling in his leg suddenly returning as the urge to move over took him. Even if he was growing tired of the gun fire, explosions, and ash that went with this hunt, he needed results, needed to know that he was doing something other than losing his mind waiting to find Steve.

The hand on his shoulder tightened pointedly and Sam knew that was Natasha's subtle way of telling him to look at her. His hand slid off his face and landed heavily on his lap as he turned sluggish red eyes towards his friend. There was something hard and steady in Natasha's eyes, a feeling she was trying her hardest to communicate to him because putting words to it would be too hard. "We only have a few hours," Natasha told him, each word firm and measured, "but this might be it."

His stomach rose, sank, and coiled all at once. The need to stand was so powerful that Sam found himself on his feet before he could even fully process what this meant. He was tempted to say that they should leave now, because that's all he wanted, to get there in as little time as possible, to find Steve and hold him tight in his arm, to run his fingers through his hair and breathe in his scent so deeply and fully that it filled his lungs forever, but that wouldn't be the right thing to do. Going into a mission halfcocked and without all their intel would be suicide and likely to put Steve in harm’s way.

"Steve?" he found himself saying, the words surprisingly difficult to form on his tongue. "Is he alive? The baby? Is the baby still...?"

Natasha got to her feet quickly, her small hands reaching out and cupping his face. Her grasp was steady and made Sam feel as if he had something anchoring him in place even while his mind continued to run in frantic circles. "Sam. Breath," she told him and it was only then that Sam realized how tight his chest had gotten. "I said I need you sharp and I meant it. This is an all hands mission, but if you can't keep it together..."

"I'm good," Sam cut in quickly, because the last thing he wanted was to be told he'd have to sit something like this out. There was no way in hell he would let himself be put on the bench at a time like this. "I just need to get my head on straight."

The look in Natasha's eyes seemed uncertain, but after a moment of quietly studying Sam's face she reluctantly let go and took a step back, her fingers slipped away from his cheeks with pointed hesitation.

He turned and walked stiffly out of the conference room where he'd been sulking, every step feeling like he was waist deep in water walking against the rising tide. The thought that it could all be over in a few hours swam in and out of his mind. If what Natasha was saying as true, if their intel was accurate and everything went right, then Steve could be home and safe in no time at all. Or he could spend another day trapped in this waking nightmare.

Sam found himself wandering down to the armory, fully intent on checking his supplies and taking stock of his ammo, but found his feet stumbling when he found himself face to face with Barnes.

Barnes had been recovering decently over the last year, but in the days after Steve's abduction he had gone back to looking like the hollowed out shell of a man he had once been under Hydra's influence. He knew that Barnes had heard him coming, but still the other man's sunken eyes refused to meet his gaze. 

Sam had already known that he hadn't been Barnes's favorite person, but after Steve's kidnapping he was certain the man hated him, even if Barnes had yet to say the words to his face. Not that he could blame him. Steve and Barnes had been separated for over seventy years, yet somehow had managed to find their way back each other. Now they were torn apart by Hydra once again, all thanks in no small part to Sam's own carelessness.

"Heard we had a lead," Barnes said at last and Sam wondered if Natasha had delivered the news to him in the same way she had told Sam.

"Yeah," he returned. "We'll be setting out in a few hours."

Neither of them put words to the fact that they might soon be seeing Steve, that they could have him home in a few hours, but the unspoken thought lingered heavy between them like an invisible weight.

"The shield's yours if you want it," Barnes told him. 

They had been passing Cap's shield back and forth between them, carrying it along on each rescue mission like some charm that would help them find Steve. Sam would have thought that Barnes would have wanted it this time, it was by Sam's count his turn to wield it, but the quiet look of determination on Barnes's face said clearly he had other plans. Already Sam could see the metal joints in his arm flexing, recalibrating themselves against an unseen weight and Sam's stomach found itself tightening again.

\---

The base was like something out of the past, a pulp dooms day story come to life forty years too late. Even from their position several miles above, Sam could tell that everything was old, rusted, and mildew coated and Sam was genuinely surprised that the dilapidated old hole in the ground was where Hydra had chosen to hide Captain America. Betting on it being the last place anyone would think to look was what Fury had said, but Sam just called it being full of themselves.

Steve’s cell was five levels below the surface. That was what Fury’s intelligence had gathered, but from the look of things Hydra had somehow managed to gather their own intel and was already scrambling to evacuate before the Avengers could make their way to the base. Three helicopters took to the air upon their Quinjet’s arrival and along with three separate armored trucks, all of which seemed to take off in completely different directions.

“They’re trying to make us split up,” Natasha concluded as their radar screens flared to life and Sam felt the weight of the shield more keenly where it rested in between his shoulder blades. It was at times like this that he wondered how Steve was able to maneuver the thing so effortlessly, but then he stopped and reminded himself that Steve’s body was set to the absolute peak of human strength and endurance. “Cap’s in one of those vehicles, but which one?”

“None,” Barnes concluded automatically. He was like a furnace beside Sam, radiating a kind of frustrated heat that was impossible to ignore. If they weren’t several miles in the air Sam felt confident that Barnes would have already kicked the rear hatch open and jumped out by now. “He’s still inside. They haven’t moved him yet.”

“Well they clearly knew we were on our way, so we can’t bank on that,” Starks said, his words pouring in from the jet’s radio and the earpiece Sam was currently sporting, making him feel as if he were surrounded by the disembodied voice. “Me, Rhodey, and Vision’ll take our pick of the choppers. Thor you take the south bound truck, Barton head north…”

“We’re heading in,” Barnes cut in, already grabbing one of the rifles off of the rack. “Natasha, take us down.”

“You know there’s a nice way to say that,” Natasha grumbled even as she prepared for their descent.

“I’ll clear a path,” Sam volunteered as he shifted the shield from his back and onto his arms before heading towards the rear of the jet.

If Natasha had anything to say about the impracticality of their plan she kept it firmly to herself. After all, each of them was emotionally compromised by this mission and by all rights none of them were thinking clear. His goggles were already pressed firmly against the bridge of his nose as the hanger door fell open, a sharp cold wind greeting him even before Sam could get a running start out the jet and into the air. 

The sound of rifle fire greeted his ears the second he started gliding into the air, but even with his wings spread he was able to maneuver around it. The shield was bulky and wide, but not as heavy in his arms as it felt had strapped onto his back and offered him a decent amount of cover as he cleared a path for Natasha and Barnes.

Between the repetitive nature of the action and the anxious churning in his head Sam found himself in a frantic sort of daze as he made his way down to the ground. Even if he were hanging in the air, a vulnerable black and red target armed with only a pair of TEC-9s he kept thinking solely of all the ways that this could turn out. 

“It’s a decoy,” he heard Rhodes’s voice say, the disappointment barely contained in his exhausted huffs. “I’ve got nothing.”

“Negative on my end as well, I’m afraid,” Vision droned flatly, but Sam was able to detect the light note of dismay hiding in his words.

“We’re oh for three then,” Stark huffed.

“Make that four,” Wanda corrected bitterly. Sam’s feet hit the ground with a light thump just as Barnes landed feet first beside him, already sprinting towards the front of the base. “Clint and I also came up empty handed. It’s up to Thor and Natasha’s teams now.”

Overhead Natasha was steering the Quinjet skyward, likely heading off to check on the third truck in order to cover their bases, but Sam kept his mind on what was ahead of them. With the exterior forces cleared, the Hydra base looked like an unremarkable abandoned military facility tucked away and forgotten in the middle of nowhere, but it was just an illusion. Sam wanted to call out to Barnes and assess some sort of a strategy for how to approach the base, but Barnes went barreling in head first like a man possessed, all thoughts of stealth and tact gone from his mind.

“I’m in pursuit of the east bound truck,” Natasha announced as Sam quickened his pace and did his best to close the distance between him and Barnes. 

“We’re heading in,” Sam said, his chest feeling warm, almost burning, as he ran into the barracks. 

He had expected gun fire, frantic cries, and angry shouts to receive him, but instead he found his ears greeted with the echo of his own footsteps. Sam frowned and looked to Barnes who was currently standing in the middle of the empty room, his rifle trained and at the ready as he scanned the cavernous base thoroughly, yet silently. A part of Sam was tempted to question Barnes’s methods, but pushed the doubt aside as he fell in step beside him. Whatever hunch Barnes was going off of was clearly telling him exactly where they needed to be.

They headed past rows of old wooden desks, warped by rain and age, and floors that seemed caked in grime towards a row of rusted green lockers. “You been here before?” Sam asked, his tone consciously low even as Barnes stepped confidently towards the lockers as if walking a too familiar path.

“Nope,” Barnes said, flat and quick before he pushed aside the lockers with his bionic arm, peeling them off the walls like a child tearing the wrapping paper off his Christmas present. There was a blast door waiting behind them and a keypad that Barnes bypassed by ripping it off the wall like picking a tomato off a vine before pounding the whole thing in with a few sharp kicks with the heel of his booted feet.

_Crude, but effective,_ Sam thought as the door managed to swing open.

A flight of rusted stairs greeted them, leading downwards into a darkened hall that seemed to carry the echo of gun fire and groaning. Sam pulled the shield up and his rifle out as he forced his way out in front of Barnes. If Barnes wanted to protest he kept it inside as Sam took the steps as quickly and quietly as he was able. By the time they reached the lower landing, whatever scuffle that had transpired seemed to have come to an end as the only sound Sam was able to detect was one voice speaking level and even. Still he braced himself as he grasped the door handle in his hand, signaling for Barnes to stay calm and at the ready. Not that he needed to. The Winter Soldier instincts had set in long ago and Barnes was somewhere deep below the surface.

Sam pushed the door open, slow enough to avoid the hinges creaking in protest and found himself greeted to the sight of a fresh war zone. The walls were pock marked, riddled with bullet holes embedding themselves to match the already chipped paint as the light flickered overhead, struggling to stay on. Shell casings littered the floor, scattering and rolling here and there as half-conscious bodies twitched and bled along the grim coated tiles.

And there was Steve in the middle of it all. His skin was ashen as if he hadn’t seen natural light in years, as sweat poured from every inch of him. He was wearing a raggedy old hospital gown that looked as if it had never been washed and blood was dripping from his arms and thighs as he crawled desperately towards the door. 

His head was already pounding by the time he registered that Steve was not alone, that there was a man standing above him and taunting him, and time seemed again to slow to a crawl as the man dug the heel of his boot into Steve’s side, sending him crashing belly first straight down to the ground.

Sam hadn’t realized that his gun had gone off until he was tossing the rifle aside, the smoke of a freshly fired weapon tickling his nose as ran over to Steve’s side. Steve was breathing heavy and erratic as Sam rolled him onto his back. His stomach had nearly doubled in size, looking very much like a ripe watermelon protruding underneath the fabric of the hospital gown. When he turned the other man’s head to face him, Sam could see that his eyes were drooped and hazy and knew instantly that Steve had been drugged.

“Stay with me,” He ordered fiercely. The hair of Steve’s beard barely hid the fresh bruise welling beneath the flesh of his cheek or the split in his lip and Sam was careful not to put too much pressure where he touched. “C’mon Steve, stay with me.”

He watched as Steve’s mouth hung open, an unintelligent noise falling from his lips as he took long, lazy blinks and struggled to stay focus.

“We have him,” Sam heard Barnes announce to their channel. “Package secured, but we need a med-evac a.s.a.p.”

Sam felt Steve’s head sag as he slipped into unconsciousness, his blue eyes rolling in the back of his head as his arms and legs began to sag at his sides. Sam wanted so badly to keep Steve in his arms, to keep holding him and whisper into his ears that everything was alright, that they were halfway home, but now wasn’t the time to fall apart like that. Instead he turned to look at Barnes who was already crouching down beside him in order to check Steve’s pulse. 

“You think you could lift him?” Sam asked, knowing the answer already.

“You… you can’t protect him.”

His eyes went to the ragged, strained voice that had spoken and landed on the face of the man who had been taunting Steve just moments ago. It was only then that Sam recognized Rumlow, gut shot and bleeding profusely and for a man who had just two years ago had an entire building collapse around him he looked remarkably well. 

Blood was slipping from between his lips and down his chin as Rumlow pushed himself into a sitting position, one hand pressed firmly against the bullet hole in the center of his stomach. His skin was already dangerously pale and in only a matter of minutes he was sure to lose consciousness. Yet Rumlow’s glower didn’t waver as he smiled with smug, bloody teeth in their direction. 

“You think you can keep them safe?” he rasped at them, his voice weak and strained as his eyes seemed to struggle to keep focus. “It’s only a matter of time… If it isn’t Hydra, it’ll be someone else. That brat’s as good as dead. Might as well save yourself the time and just hand it over now.”

“Nice theory,” Barnes droned coldly as he unclipped his side arm from its holster. “Here’s mine.”

Sam’s ears were ringing dangerously, a high pitched buzz filling the air and causing his teeth to set on end as Barnes emptied what must have been his entire clip into Rumlow’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay with getting this chapter out. It's ironic that the last time I worked on a Sam/Steve fic, Hurt Me Soul, something terrible happened in my life that caused me to lose motivation. Then I start this story and another run of bad luck slams into me.
> 
> Cards on the table, a little over two weeks ago I was involved in a hit and run accident. I wasn't injured, but my car was wrecked and it put me in a really bad place mentally. Fortunately I'm doing better now and my insurance will help me get back on the road, but I also didn't want to abandon another story. I hope the momentum will carry me enough so that I can wrap this story up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who read and reviewed so far and also thank you for all the well wishes and support that everyone left in the previous chapter. I'm doing better now, I got a new car and I'm back on the road, but anyone who had an accident can tell you driving is stressful after your first hit. 
> 
> It took me a long time to figure out a way to end this story (which was one of the reasons it was abandoned years ago), but I finally figured out something that I'm satisfied with. I hope this conclusion works for everyone who took the time to read it.

The clean air filling his lungs was the first thing Steve noticed about his new surroundings. He breathed in the scent of a sterile room free from mildew or rust or the odd coopery scent of blood that always seemed to churn through the vents of the Hydra base and instantly felt overwhelmed. His body was still frustratingly sore, but the feeling of a soft blanket against his skin and a pillow that actually cradled his head settled whatever lingering fear that crawled around the back of his mind.

Little things began to gain his attention bit by bit as he struggled to process this new situation. There was a steady hum in the air and a rhythmic beep that kept catching his ear. In his right arm he vaguely registered a slight pinch, a slip of a needle beneath his skin perhaps belonging to an IV drip. There was a warm weight against his right hand, a palm pressed securely against his own as a set of calloused fingers gripped him in a hold that was both loose and firm. He knew it was Sam without looking, which was fortunate given how hard it was for him to force his eyes open in that moment. 

The sedatives were just beginning to wear off, the Hydra scientist no doubt having cooked up a more powerful batch of tranquilizers in order to transport Steve easily to whatever new facility they had been planning to send him. He winced mentally at the thought. Along with his body still feeling off, his head felt foggy and his mouth tasted like cotton. At least he was safe, at least Sam was there. Those thoughts kept circling through his head as his mind slipped in and out of consciousness.

"... suggest... take a break... not going anywhere..." It was hard to tell if the words had come from across the room or miles away, but Steve was able to recognize Natasha's dry tone well enough.

"Nah... not leaving him..." he heard Sam say and smiled quietly to himself.

They lapsed into silence then, or maybe that was just him drifting again. His brain still felt sluggish and foggy as the world churned around him. He gave opening his eyes a try and instantly found himself wincing at how harsh and bright the fluorescent lights above him felt. He must have grunted or moved in a way that caught the attention of the other occupants in the room as the hand gripping his tightened and a weight pressed down at the foot of the bed. Another hand pressed against his cheek, stroking his face with the pad of a thumb, and Steve couldn't help melting into the familiar touch.

He tried opening his eyes again, vision straining to focus in on the figures floating before him, but eventually he was able to make out Sam's worried smile, the slight curl of Natasha's lips, and the surprisingly watery look in Bucky’s eyes. Steve could feel the concern radiating from each one of them and allowed himself the relief in knowing that they were all there and safe with him again.

"Hey baby," Sam whispered gently, his right hand slowly gliding from Steve's cheek to rest on his chest. "Bout time you woke up."

Steve felt his head reel at those words, his mind finally processing that there was someone else that he should be worried about. His free hand found its way to his stomach, his limb feeling like a lead glove as he struggled to lift it. His palm was greeted by the sturdy mound that had become more familiar than the flat abs that had dissolved away months ago. 

"He's right where you left him," Natasha told him, leaning one hip against the foot of the hospital bed. It would be easy to mistake her posture for indifference, but even in his groggy state Steve could see through the facade. "Cho checked both your vitals when we brought you in. You're doing fine, both of you."

The heavy weight of fear that had formed in him evaporated at those words even as he recalled the blinding pain he had experienced in the elevator. He had been so certain those were contractions, but it must have been something else. A stress induced false alarm perhaps? Not that it mattered. The only thing that mattered was that little Sammy was okay.

"How long have I been out?" Steve asked, cringing at the gravelly tone of his own voice.

"Two days," Bucky managed to say before Sam could put in a quick "Don't worry about it." He watched Sam shoot Bucky a look, one that was quick in a way that made clear that he wasn't really upset over the slip. "You're okay now."

There were so many things that he wanted to say, so many questions that begged to be asked. Steve wanted to know about Hydra, about the team, if anyone had gotten hurt rescuing him, if Zemo had escaped, if Rumlow was taken in, but the thoughts all stuck together in his head before he could manage to put any of them to words. Instead he felt his eyes blur in a way that he mistook for sleep, but when he blinked he felt a warm dampness crawling down his cheek and disappearing into the rough hairs of his beard he knew he had guessed wrong.

Sam brushed the tears away with the back of his hand, his fingers gently caressing the hairs on his cheek and reminding Steve how tired he still felt. "It's okay baby," Sam soothed. "Don't think about it. You're safe now. You can rest."

He let the weight of the words engulf him, nodding distantly against the pillow as he relaxed into his bedding and allowed himself to slip away again.

-

When he woke again he was relieved to find that it all hadn't been a fevered dream. The room was devoid of light when he opened his eyes, a clear sign that several hours had passed since he had last been conscious and the sound of the humming equipment soon greeted his ears. He turned his head to glance over at one of the machines only to find his eyes landing on Sam. 

Sam was fast asleep in the hospital chair beside Steve’s bed, his head bent in an angle that didn’t look particularly comfortable and his arms folded loosely around his midsection. His mind must have been a bit more awake because even in the dimly lit hospital room Steve was able to see how haggard Sam looked. The flight suit was still on, a clear sign that Sam had only shrugged off his wings before going to see him and his facial hair now looked overgrown and in desperate need of a trim. Even though he was fast asleep, Steve could still make out the bags that were lurking beneath Sam’s eyes and he had to wonder if this was the first time Sam had gotten any sleep in the months he’d been gone.

“We tried to move him, but he wouldn’t budge.” Steve turned to see Bucky lurking near the foot of his bed. He was sitting hunched over in his own chair, but despite his slouching posture he seemed far more alert than he should have any right to be at this time of night. Steve watched as Bucky shifted, sitting back against the stiff plastic of the chair and stretching his legs into a more comfortable position. Bucky hadn’t changed either, his own combat gear still on, but there was also a gun just below his belt and Steve had a feeling that was just the only visible weapon on him. “He’s as stubborn as you sometimes.”

Steve smiled proudly at that as he pressed his hand against his stomach. “Hopefully it doesn’t run too strongly in the family,” he joked, his words earning a small smirk from Bucky in the process. “What time is it?”

“Quarter to three.”

The smile instantly evaporated at that. “Please tell me I wasn’t asleep another two days.”

Bucky’s smirk widened as he gave his head a slight shake and Steve felt a bit better. 

Flexing his legs, Steve could feel his muscles starting to cramp up beneath the sheets. He needed movement, needed to feel the ground beneath his feet again, even if his last bit of exercise had shown him how difficult moving around in his current state could be. He pressed a hand to his stomach and slowly tugged at his sheets. The movement caught Bucky’s attention and he was on his feet and at Steve’s side in an instant. A joke had settled on the tip of his tongue, but the stony expression on his friend’s features made all thoughts of levity die away.

“I just… I need to move,” he explained quietly, mindful that Sam was still very much asleep and even if he would be sore in the morning, Steve knew he needed every bit of rest he could get. “I’ve been stuck in bed for weeks. I… I just need to be able to get up and walk around.”

“Stuck” wasn’t exactly the right word for his previous scenario and Bucky knew it without saying anything, which was likely why he silently helped Steve get to his feet and out of the bed. It took a bit more effort to maneuver him than he had anticipated and Steve was genuinely surprised he had managed to suppress his grunts enough to ensure that Sam stayed asleep.

His legs were painfully tense when he stood and if Steve didn’t know any better he would have sworn that he’d gained another ten pounds in the two days he had spent unconscious, because his stomach definitely felt heavier. He had to rest an awkward amount of his weight against Bucky as he simply stood in the darkened room, waiting for his center of gravity to adjust itself enough so that he would actually be able to move comfortably. It took an embarrassingly long time for him to finally regain enough feeling in his legs in order to shuffle his way towards the door, but even then he was still leaning most of his bulk against Bucky who took it without any hit of annoyance. 

They stepped out into the hall that was also dimly lit, and Steve realized then that they were back in the New Avengers facility upstate when the motion sensors caused the lights to flick on. He winced against the blinding lights, his fingers tightening around the base of the mobile IV pole and Steve could tell that Bucky was amused even if he was being pointedly silent. In that moment Steve felt very much like an old man, shuffling around in slippers and a hospital gown that was barely covering his bulky figure, but it was much better than feeling like a prisoner. He gazed down the hallway and felt the relief in knowing that he wouldn’t have to make note of the guards stationed at every door or mentally map out the fastest escape route.

“Where’s Natasha?” Steve asked. They were far enough away from the room that he felt confident in speaking at full volume. 

“Somewhere pretending to sleep,” Bucky told him. “She was trying her damnedest to get us to go to bed, but I’m pretty sure she’s just as wound up as everyone else now that you’re back.”

“Everyone else?”

Bucky nodded, but didn’t say anymore, no doubt because he didn’t want Steve to dwell on the fact that he had disrupted everyone’s lives; that his friends and teammates had likely lost days if not weeks of sleep in an effort to locate him. He had replayed that day in his head over and over again, how sudden the attack had been, how he and Sam had fought so hard only for it to all be useless. They had thought they were being careful, but Steve saw now that they’d just been delusional. He should have trusted his instincts and known that he wasn’t meant for this, that a normal life and a family weren’t things he could hope to achieve.

A nudge to his shoulder caused him to pull himself out of his murky thoughts as he felt Bucky come to a halt at his side. “I know what you’re doing,” Bucky told him, his voice firm as his metal hand pressed against Steve’s side. “And you can put a stop to all that right now.”

“Buck,” he began, but Bucky cut in before he could even find the words.

“Nobody did more than they were willing to do,” Bucky told him. His expression was hard and flat and Steve hated seeing it, because it reminded him too much of the Winter Soldier, but he could see from the genuine emotion shining in his friend’s eyes that he hadn’t slipped back into that state just yet. “Whether it sits right with you or not you have friends who care about you and wanted to help you.”

Steve didn’t argue, because he didn’t have the energy to. Instead he just pressed a hand to the swell of his stomach.

They made a few laps around the hall before Steve’s eyes started to feel stiffer than his legs and he allowed Bucky to lead him back to his hospital room. He made sure to grab a blanket for Sam and gently maneuvered a pillow behind his head. It wouldn’t offer much support and Steve still felt certain he’d have a bad cramp come morning, but at least it would make the next few hours a bit easier. Satisfied, Steve finally allowed himself to slip back between the sheets and drift back to sleep.

-

By morning Steve was ready to get out of bed for good. A part of him was still feeling drained and a touch foggy, but the thought of spending another second lying in a hospital bed made his skin crawl and his insides feel slimy. He made sure to tell his friends as much as soon as he could push the words out of his mouth. Sam and Bucky were reluctant at first, but after another exam from Cho confirmed that Steve and the baby were healthy and doing well enough to be released neither were able to put up much of a fight against his demands.

Steve had been entertaining the thought of going back to their house in DC for months, but even before they sat him in the wheelchair that he had only halfheartedly protested against Steve knew that it would be a good long time before he saw their home in the suburbs again. They put him in a suite in the housing facility of the compound. There was a loft style layout, with a sleeping area, kitchenette, and private bathroom. The room was very minimalist and modern, the usual style that Tony used to decorate most of his compounds and facilities, but anything that wasn't covered in mildew and chipped paint was a welcomed sight.

Steve sat on the couch as soon as they were alone, because his body had decided to concede to the fact that he was eight months pregnant. Last night's little walk around the hospital had done him some good at the time, but he was still feeling weighed down by his massive belly and sinking into the soft folds of the leather sofa felt impossibly good.

He let out a deep breath and allowed his palms rest on top of the swell of his stomach. The sweats they had given him were loose across the shoulders and around his legs, yet tight in the middle where his stomach bulged. The material was soft in the outer layers, but itchy where it rubbed against his skin. He didn't mind though. It was just a relief to be wearing something other than a hospital gown again.

"How are you two feeling?" Sam asked as he sat down beside him.

Steve smiled at the sight of Sam's gentle grin as he continued to rub soothing circles into the side of his stomach. "He's pretty sluggish this morning. Probably still fighting off those sedatives."

Sam chuckled as he draped his arm across the back of the couch and Steve took the opportunity to lean against his side. He closed his eyes and rested his head on Sam's shoulder burying his nose flush against his neck and breathing in the familiar scent. He had dreamed of Sam for so long, imagining the moment when they would be together again like this, yet even as he sat there drinking in Sam's warmth a part of him felt a knot of guilt growing inside of him. 

In the light of day he could see the deep bags that had formed beneath Sam's brown eyes and the hollows of his cheeks even more keenly than he had last night. Bucky hadn't looked much better and neither had Natasha. They had all suffered because of him. 

"It's okay baby," Sam whispered as he ran his fingers through Steve's shaggy hair. "We're okay."

"It's not okay." He felt his eyes welling as his vision began to blur. His fingers dug into the fabric of his sweater as the dark memories began swirling through his mind. "What they were planning to do to him... We could have lost him."

"I know," Sam breathed. The press of Sam’s own fingers into his sides spoke of so much desperation and fear.

He closed his eyes, feeling the way Sam's body was trembling against his and suddenly felt sick inside. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. This happened because of me. I should've... I should've stayed inside like I was supposed to."

"Don't. Just... don't."

“There’s always going to be someone after him,” Steve sighed. He felt as if he were admitting defeat by giving voice to the words, but it was something he had been thinking ever since the day he had been taken. “Even if we stop Hydra he won’t be safe.”

It was a hard truth, one that they both knew they would have to swallow, but neither one of them was ready to face it. He felt his body begin to sag, a sort of weight pressing down on him and suddenly, deep in his core Steve felt so completely and utterly tired. It was an exhaustion that came from more than the linger effects of the sedative or the massive weight in his stomach, but from fighting against something that had been there for far too long. 

Sam’s hand found its way to his cheek, his palm warm and firm even against the thick hairs sprouting against his cheek and Steve felt himself melting even before the full lips pressed against his mouth. Sam’s kiss was tender, yet pleading and Steve was practically drowning as he relished it, because it felt so right and familiar. He hadn’t been kissed in months, hadn’t been touched like he was a person in longer than he wanted to remember and for a moment he forgot that he was stuck in a suite upstate, because this felt like home. Steve sighed as Sam’s other hand very gently settled on his shoulder before sliding down his back, maneuvering him to lean back against the row of pillows lining the couch and this would have been so much easier five months and several pounds ago.

Yet Sam seemed determined to make this work, his movement deliberate, yet careful as he lifted Steve’s hips and tucked another pillow beneath them for support. Despite the somber air that had been hanging over him just moments ago, Steve found himself chuckling, because he felt sure this whole thing looked ridiculous even as a warmth pooled in the pit of his stomach as Sam began to tug at the waist band of his sweats.

Laying back on his elbows he watched as Sam’s shirt come up and off over his head, and the sight of his bare chest in the daylight made his head swim. At least Sam didn’t look thin or underfed and when Steve reached out to touch him his biceps he felt sturdy and warm beneath his fingers. Sam dove back in, his mouth kissing its way down Steve’s neck, his hands cradling Steve’s stomach as if it were the most amazing thing in the world and Steve would have been content to stay just this way forever, because it was perfect. Sam above him, touching him, mouth pressing searing kisses into his flushed skin and the baby actually began pushing as if waking up for the first time. His head swam and his chest felt tight even before Sam’s hand found its way between his legs and held him in that firm, confident grasp of his. 

“Sam,” he felt himself crying out, moisture spilling from the corners of his eyes as he laid there and tried to take it all in. There was a soft couch beneath his back, a pillow resting against his hips, and a clean mold free ceiling above his head. It felt like sensory overload, but he didn’t want any of it to stop, didn’t want Sam to ever pull away from him again.

“I’m here,” Sam whispered back, his fingers working their magic and Steve was so glad he was lying down, because his legs felt like jelly. “I’ve got you.” 

He felt himself spilling into Sam’s palm, his breath coming out in trembling huffs and he wanted so desperately to reach out and return the favor, but he had a feeling his hands wouldn’t have been of much use to him for a good while. Sam didn’t seem to mind at all, as he stayed against him, nose pressed flush against the crook of Steve’s neck as he held onto his bicep with one hand and braced himself against the couch with the other. They stayed silently like that until Steve felt certain there was nothing else except just the two of them.

-

Steve didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have slipped off for a good while, because when he opened his eyes the curtains had been drawn and there was a blanket draped across him.

Sam was still in the room and Steve wasn’t surprised, because after everything they had gone through he had a feeling it would be a good long time before Sam took more than two steps away from him. He was sitting in an armchair that he had likely been dragged from somewhere else in the suite, because Steve couldn’t remember it being there before. There was a mug sitting on the coffee table and a book resting in Sam’s lap, the whole scene so peaceful and normal and Steve didn’t know how many times he would have to wake up before he was convinced that this wasn’t just another dream.

The scent of food hit his nostrils and instantly Steve felt the baby begin to shift and kick. They hadn’t eaten anything that smelled better than boiled death in months and Steve felt as if he had a gaping hole in the pit of his gut. He must have made some strange noise, because Sam turned his way and gave him a bemused look.

“Ready to eat?” Sam asked jokingly as he marked off his page before setting his book aside.

“Been ready,” Steve yawned, placing a hand on top of his stomach for emphasis.

Steve knew that Sam would have brought the food over to the couch for him, but he forced himself up, determined not to stay in one spot for too long. They ate at the tiny table in the kitchenette, the food resting in Styrofoam containers and likely having been brought up from the cafeteria some time ago. Sam opened the containers to reveal roasted chicken accompanied by seasoned potatoes and carrots. There was wild rice and gravy and two thick bread rolls to wipe it all up and Steve was sure that he ate Sam’s portion too, but the food was so good that he couldn’t get it into his mouth fast enough. 

“Christ baby, you need to chew,” Sam teased as he handed him a glass of water.

Steve drank it and was embarrassed by how close he was to actually crying, because everything felt so good now.

“Feeling better?” Sam asked as he gave Steve’s back a hearty pat. Steve nodded, his stomach feeling warm and full as the baby found a way to settle himself down against all the food. “Then I guess now’s a good time to really talk,” Sam sighed as he pulled out a chair and sat down across from Steve.

Suddenly the food wasn’t sitting well in his stomach and the blissful, warm feeling felt a touch cold, but Steve knew that he couldn’t fight against this. Instead he just adjusted himself in his seat and prepared to listen.

“There’s no easy answer to this,” Sam muttered as he slumped back against the chair, “but we gotta figure out what we’re going to do when the baby gets here.”

Steve nodded, his breath coming out of his nose in a slow puff of air as he placed a hand against his side. “We could send him off to live with your mom down south,” Steve reasoned. “He might be better off there, being raised away from … us.”

Sam’s lips twisted in distaste. “I couldn’t do that to my mom,” he grumbled. “She’s not exactly a geriatric, but she’s no spring chicken either. I couldn’t drop an infant on her and expect her to raise it for me like some reckless teenager.” 

“Your sister then?” Steve ventured cautiously. “Or maybe your brother?”

Steve knew that it would be asking a lot of Sam’s family to do this for them, especially since none of them really knew that little Sammy existed, but he felt certain it was good option. Sam’s family was filled with good, kind people and Steve knew they’d raise his baby right. He had gone without family for a long time and if someone else was going to be bringing up his child then Steve wanted it to be someone they could count on.

Sam’s face remained distant, his eyes drifting towards the ground. Steve watched as Sam raised his hand and reached across the table, grasping gently at his outstretched fingers. “Is that really what you want? To send him away?”

He hesitated for a moment, considering the answer that was already on his tongue as he quietly enjoyed the feel of Sam’s callused fingers scraping against his own. “No,” he whispered at last, “but I know it’s the better option. I can’t… I can’t let this happen again.”

Sam’s head bobbed up in down in a slow deliberate manner, before staying still. His eyes were still facing the ground as his fingers began to tighten around Steve’s hands. Steve watched as Sam’s free hand pressed against his eyes, staying there as his shoulders began to shake. It took a moment for him to realize that Sam was crying and the sight made his insides hurt.

"I lost so much," Sam whispered, his voice shaking despite his best efforts. "Lost my dad, lost my wingman... I can't lose you. We can't lose him."

Steve was surprised by how quickly he was able to get up and on his feet given his size, but he managed to maneuver himself over to Sam’s side of the little table and pull the other man close. Sam wrapped his arms around him instantly, clinging to Steve’s bulk as if he were a raft in the middle of the ocean. Tears feel freely from Sam’s eyes as he pressed his face to Steve’s stomach, kissing and touching the belly as if there was nothing between him and the baby, as if he needed to do that in order to erase all the months that had been lost between them.

He could count the number of times he had seen Sam fall apart on one hand, because years of therapy had taught him how to manage, but when it happened it always knocked Steve on his back and reminded him just how similar they really were. Sam was always someone people counted on, the person everyone expected to be solid and stable, to have no faults, but he felt loss and fear and want just like anyone else and in that moment Steve knew that Sam was caught up in all three.

Standing there with one hand pressed against Sam’s back and the other cradling his head, Steve knew that there was no easy answer to be found, no simple way out for any of them. The three of them were stuck together and in that moment Steve couldn’t see how that was a bad thing. 

“We’ll work something out,” Steve reasoned, his own throat already feeling tight as he struggled to speak. His eyes were beginning to blur with tears, but he forced himself to blink them away. “We’ll make this work. Just the three of us: you, me, and little Sammy.”

Sam laughed, the sound wet and coming straight from his nose as he allowed himself to pull back and give Steve an incredulous look. “Seriously? We’re still going with that one?”

“He’s our little Sammy, babe,” Steve grinned, a tear rolling down his cheek as he spoke. “There’s no way around it.”


End file.
